Tea Kettle
by Metempsykhosis
Summary: However, because of that Francis always took it upon himself to add a little flare to the Englishman’s life, though Arthur would never admit it. Use of real names, putting under T for light swearing


**Title**; Tea Kettle  
**Author**; x-x-x  
**Character(s) or Pairing(s):**; France/England (use of real names)  
**Rating/Warnings**; PG, I think.. fluffly, light swearing. Loving!Francis.  
**Notes**; It started as a drabble, but it ended up being 4 pages.  
**Summary**; _However, because of that Francis always took it upon himself to add a little flare to the Englishman's life, though Arthur would never admit it._  
**Disclaimer:** I tend to forget to put this, but obliviously I don't own. :(

* * *

The frog has been tormenting him since Alfred's birthday. All the reminder that he wasn't into the dating scene much or if at all. The only loves of his life was the meetings, tea and occasionally seeing his former colonies. Yes, all work and no play made Arthur a dull boy. However, because of that Francis always took it upon himself to add a little flare to the Englishman's life, though Arthur would never admit it.

These flares have become frequent now. Instead of once every few months, seeing the pervert was a daily occurrence. Francis begun being increasing bold, besides the normal kissing and touching, it started getting intimate. The touches became softer, more playful and the Frenchman became more of a time for him to smile, until the pestering of admittance came into play.

"What are you thinking about, mon chérie?"

Francis was kissing him again, the cheesy romantic kisses started on this hand, and like all the other cliché movies, the trail ended with his neck being lavished like sweet fruit. It did feel nice, but Arthur couldn't help but to think about other things. He was pretending Francis wasn't caressing his abs with feathery touches and that vulgar mouth wasn't lavishing his throat with kisses and licks.

To Arthur, times like this was uncomfortable to say the least. He had not gotten any in a long time, Francis knew, as always and because of that these attacks became a regular occurrence. In his office, on the couch, in the kitchen, during tea, sleeping.. you name the place and it probably occurred. When it occurred, Francis would just barely simulate him and a small gasp would leave Arthur's mouth. Thankfully the touches never exceeded past that mark.

Snapping out of his thoughts, the lavishing on his neck had stopped. Francis now stood in front of him, one of the Frenchmen's hand was caressing his cheek. There was no time for a protest, Francis pushed his lips softly against the Englishmen's. The sound of their breathing and the wind outside made the whole thing so surreal, there was no children running around catching their attention and breaking the moment. Just them, just Francis moving his lips to deepen the already sweet kiss, and Arthur going along with it, though his conscious was yelling at me.

There was no tongue, frankly Arthur expected their to be. He expected Francis would fall back into his old perverted routine, but it never happened. Their lips pulled no more than a few centimeters apart before pressing once more as they pulled apart. Francis was looking at him with absolutely admiration with just a hint of lust.

"Bonne nuit, mon amour."

In his daze, Arthur didn't even bother to be polite and return the favor. Nor did he return the gentle hug that was given to him. After so many centuries fighting with Francis and two colonies, he thought he'd seen it all, but apparently not.

~x~

After last night's events, Arthur didn't sleep. When he touched his lips, he felt the kisses, he felt the hug when buried under his blankets. The night had gone from restless to staring at the wall. A million and a half plus one questions floated through his mind. Most were 'why', and 'what'. His conscious kept reminding him the frog was probably planning something, there would be no way Francis was doing this because he wanted to. There was always some ulterior motive.

The next morning was hell. He'd not slept, his eyes were bloodshot and it seemed everything that could go possibly wrong, was in fact going wrong. For one, he broke his favorite tea kettle, burned himself several times, slipped in the shower and he had enough bruises and scratches from tripping and falling it looked like he was attacked by a squirrel. It was all Francis' fault for doing this to him, for unbalancing his daily, happy routine. Looking up at the clock, the sudden realization hit him, that the topping on his cake was now he was late for the meeting. As if anything else could go worse today.

The idiomatic term Alfred have embraced came to mind. "_Fuck my life._"

~x~

He kept his head down the whole time. Alfred questioned it and the other countries had made it the hot topic of the meeting, but Arthur didn't care. The lighting was horrid and gave him headache, the shade of his eye lids made things a little better, combined with no sleep last night he was lulled to sleep instantly, meeting be damned. It was just not his day.

However, what seemed like only minutes later, he was being shaken awake. The intense glare of the lights instantly made his pupils dilate and his head hurt all over again. The only comfort was a well-worn and calloused hand stroking the top of his. Then it hit him, Francis, that bloody Frenchmen was probably doing it, and because of that reason, he yanked his hand away from the comforting touches.

He liked the touches, _sometimes_, but he wasn't in the mood for it. He kept rubbing his head, the lighting was killing him, his bed was calling. The soft, feathery pillows and that warm comfy blanket on a plush mattress was calling out to him. The rest he needed so badly was just a short ride home, he hoped at least.

"Mon cher, are you alright?"

When the Frenchmen didn't get an answer, he opted for the better method. He pulled them together for a simple kiss before getting up from his delegation chair and turning off both their microphones. He had to admit, Arthur looked bad during the meeting and fell asleep no less, but thankfully he didn't snore. Normally he would suggest they would go out drinking like the old times, but the English country looked like shit.

"Come on darling, lets get you home and comfortable."

"I can do it myself, you git. I don't need you."

Even after centuries, the insults and wars, it was easy to ignore. Arthur was stubborn, and even if he was on the brink of death, Francis doubted that Arthur would ever ask for help. However, he was still courting the Englishmen and helping him might score a few points for Team France.

Throughout the drive back to Arthur's house, Francis noticed how eerily quiet it was, glancing over he took note Arthur had fallen asleep sitting up. It was sort of cute to see Arthur so content, so docile. Honestly France felt like touching him, non sexually of course, he would not have the world call him a cradle robber again after that little mishap with the Scandinavian countries and not knowing who Canada was. That little event was one for the memories after someone had told them who Matthew was in relation to himself.

"Arthur." Again with the shaking awake. Francis, in the back of his mind where no one would ever find out, admitted to himself that he wasn't as strong, psychically, as he once was. Carrying the sleepy Englishmen would probably call for a trip to the doctor. "Arthur, we're home."

The look on Arthur's face was just absolutely adorable. His mouth was slightly open, eyes were glassy and his demeanor was one of being half awake. Honestly, he was making it super difficult for Francis to refrain from jumping on him right there and lavishing him with kisses and playful words, but he was on a mission and bold lovemaking would have to wait. He was a gentlemen after all and the courtship hadn't gotten that far yet. '_Yeah right._'

Arthur's taste in, well anything, hadn't changed one bit over the years. It still looked a dull as ever, though there was more windows in the house than last time. I guess natural lighting finally got through the other's head, but a shiny glass piece caught his attention. Arthur had taken it upon himself to fall onto the first soft and cushiony object he could find, getting so far as the couch, but Francis seemed more interested in the kitchen.

There was hundreds, maybe thousands of little shards on the floor. The glass looked familiar, Arthur was a creature of habit. Carefully, as to not cut himself, Francis picked the pieces up one by one, flipping them over, examining both sides. When the colors didn't give it away, he tried putting pieces together like a puzzle, by the 3rd piece it was evident it was a tea kettle.

Again, knowing Arthur, he didn't keep very many tea kettles in the house. Of all their visits whether war or negotiations the English man only use- _oh shit_. Dropping what little pieces he had put together, frantically Francis began searching through the cabinets looking for that ancient tea kettle. Door after door revealed nothing, the tea kettle from the American Revolution now rested on the counter top, in hundreds of broken little pieces.

'_Oh Arthur.._'

His initial thought was to try to replace it, again points for Team France, but where in the world would he find a authentic tea kettle from that era that wasn't sitting in some museum?

~x~

Rolling over, Arthur woke with a start. Francis was in his bed, but he was fully clothed. His head didn't hurt, and his ass wasn't sore. He actually felt much better.

"Bonjour, mon petit Angleterre. Sleep well?"

Arthur took a moment to sit up and actually wake up before answering the other. His conscious was still pestering him. Ulterior motives, it screamed. Francis practically never did something like this unless there was some deal to be made. The Frenchman was flipping through the pages of what could only be an old photo album, did it involve photography?

"Pray tell, mon cher, do you remember when this photo was taken?"

It was a picture of Alfred and Matthew when they were little. Matthew always carried, and still does, that polar bear with him. He looked at the picture slightly more in depth, it was him and Francis, holding the little colonies. Back when they were dependent on the two older countries for everything. Of course he remembered, it was before.. before those two knew what war is and what it would do. Blinking away the tears threatening to escape from his eyes, he tilted his head back.

"Yeah I remember, what of it?"

Plucking the old picture from the other's hand, Francis carefully put it back in its place before closing the tattered book and setting it on the night stand. Turning back to his current deposition, he took the option of surprising the other with a quick jerk and pulling. Arthur was now sitting on his lap, in bed with him, full clothed. Pushing some unruly hair out of the other's face, he took note of the adoration, though almost none, in Arthur's eyes.

"You were so happy then, mon bijou, but then again, we had two little ones to take care of didn't we? I miss that Arthur. I miss that a lot, because you know how independent they are now, but you, I will always have you."

Maybe it was the photo that he never looked at, or maybe because he did. Maybe it was because he couldn't help remember everything and how difficult it was to do that. Maybe it was a lot of things, but he couldn't stop the tears from escaping his eyes and dripping onto the thin cloth of the other.

"Is.. is that why you've been being so nice to me recently? Trying to dig up the past for your personal enjoyment?"

Leaning forward, they shared another kiss, though this time Arthur wasn't exactly as willing as before.

"Not for my personal enjoyment, mon cher, after all it takes two to tango."

From there it was nothing short of sweet, right after Arthur punched Francis for the sexual undertone comment. They laid together on the surprising small couch, cuddling together as the sun began to set. Their heart beats calming the other, making the sun rise all the more beautiful through the thin curtains. It was only when Arthur went into the kitchen that he discovered his beloved tea kettle. The one that he broke yesterday, sitting on the counter next to a tube of glue and a note from Francis.

"_Even if you don't admit it now, you will eventually. Je t'aime, but next time try not to break irreplaceable, priceless and historical objects."_

-x-  
It was honestly supposed to be just a drabble, but if ended up being a 4 page one shot. :o  
So yay~ and I downloaded msn plus with the translation scripts. My friend says the Norwegian is fairly accurate, but of course, not being a native speaker, I could always be wrong. x)


End file.
